Silk
by Syrianora
Summary: She awakens in a darkened room: bruised, bleeding, and pleading for mercy. He will grant it to her, but on his terms.
1. Chapter 1

**Title: **Silk

**Author:** Syrianora

**Rating:** Mature

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing. All is used for entertainment, none for profit.

**Pairings:** Mostly Chuck and Blair. (D/S to come)

**Summary: **She awakens in a darkened room: bruised, bleeding, and pleading for mercy. He will grant it to her, but on his terms.

**Author's Note: **See, I promised myself I wasn't going to do this. I was downright insistent with myself. I said, "Finish BABW, and then we can think about posting this erotica. Another fic will distract you. Posting another fic is bad. Bad bad bad. You want to finish BABW. Finish finish finish."

But the allure of CB has me contemplating sharing with you the most _insane _workings of my mind.

This one is going to be quite dark; think alongside my one-shot _The First Plague. _Very very mature; I seem to be drawn to the masochist and sadist relationship. Very very AU; you're going to see a very unique (perhaps unliked) version of New York City in this story. Think Season 1 Chuck, but far more sinister and menacing; he's going to be doing things that may haunt you. And Blair, as always, will remain his Achille's heel.

Usually, I outline my stories down to the very beginning and end of each chapter, along with a few key points of dialogue. That's just how I publish. But this time is a bit different. Outline's inside my mind; I have a very generalized idea of the story's plotline, but a _very _specific mindset of how I want the characters to progress.

Quite simply, I am too excited to share this with you to sit down and outline for another week.

So leave a thought; if this is something you would like to read, I would be very pleased to please.

You won't believe what I have in store for these two.

* * *

**Prologue: **Awakening

_But he did not understand the price. _

_Mortals never do. _

_They only see the prize: their heart's desire, their dream._

_Neil Gaiman_

* * *

It was the smell that awoke her.

A putrid mixture of Chinese takeout, burned matches, and faint urine edged towards her nostrils, shut eyes squinting and lips parting slightly as the rancid scent danced upon her dullened senses.

It was cold underneath her body; of that she was sure. Fingertips edged along the raised bumps of the stone surface; slow, deliberate, searching. She furrowed her eyebrows as her fingers roamed over a thick liquid, her hand rising upwards as her eyes gradually flitted open.

Although the entire room was bathed in darkness, she could still make out the outline of her hand. The color was dark against the pads of her skin; she squinted faintly, attempting to make out the exact color staining her pale fingertips, before the stinging throbbing at the base of her skull had her moaning slightly.

With the little strength she could command, she lifted her body upwards, fingers running over the aching spot. The area proved to be far too tender; she winced with pain, willing the pounding in her head to settle. The muscles of her body strained tightly.

It was as if she had been rudely awoken from a most deep slumber, body yearning for more rest, head feeling achingly heavy.

Blair Waldorf looked around the blackened room as the roots of fear stemmed deep within her. She cried softly as a shot of pain rushed from the sore spot at her skull. Her legs attempted to pull themselves up, but she fell to the floor as the muscles departed and shook underneath her weight.

Her heart beat a staccato rhythm against her chest as a faint dripping noise grew to become the only sound she could hear. Palms feeling around the floor, she dragged her body along the cement, as she neared iron bars. She hissed in agony as an unknown jagged edge sliced against her ankle, the flesh feeling warm as crimson liquid weeped out of the cut. Squeezing her eyes shut, she willed her body to continue, ignoring the stinging as her own blood pooled at her ankle. Wrapping shaking palms around the chilled surface of iron, she licked her cracked lips, nearly gagging as she encountered the faint taste of blood at the corner of her mouth.

"Help…" she murmured, voice hoarse and weak, her eyes attempting to look out into the shadows looming before her for a hint of life. "Help…me…"

No salvation appeared before her.

The dripping continued. Her forehead pressed against the cold iron, the frigid surface a very soothing sensation to the overwhelming pain growing at the base of her skull.

The sound of footsteps had her eyes lifting with hope.

And yet, a flash of red fabric was all she needed to forgo her pain and begin screaming.

* * *

They dragged her; dragged her by the hair, by the silk of her negligee, by the long fingers that were clawing at their wretched faces with the insanity of a caged animal.

She was screeching, begging, shrieking with the collection of men surrounding her- two at her limbs, two marching behind her with the order of a commanded army- to let her go; she was innocent, she could prove it, couldn't they listen for a _mere _moment?

She was thrashing between the two men; hair wild, silk thrashing, limbs tugging, as one of the men stepped forward and opened two mahogany doors.

"Please, please! I did nothing wrong!" she begged with tears in her eyes, as one man, with the firmest of straight-lined mouths, grabbed a fistful of her dark strands, and yanked her by the hair down a long hallway.

She continued to kick and beat, fingernails digging into the carpet, heart soaring with joy as she managed to pull out of the man's grasp and crawl away from her stoic captor on hands and knees. However, her cries became hysterical as his long arms found her waist and pulled her off the floor.

She landed with a shriek against the crimson carpet before her eyes. Her knees were bruised, her arms sported faint scratch marks, and her face was damp with tears as she slowly looked up, black pearls meeting the smirking face of one Charles Bass.

* * *

A thought?


	2. Chapter 1: Memory

**Title: **Silk

**Author:** Syrianora

**Rating:** Mature

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing. All is used for entertainment, none for profit.

**Pairings:** Mostly Chuck and Blair. (D/S to come)

**Summary: **She awakens in a darkened room: bruised, bleeding, and pleading for mercy. He will grant it to her, but on his terms.

**Author's Note: **I love you all :) I honestly never thought the story would have received such a positive response!

I want to take this opportunitiy to thank every reviewer, reader, alerter, favoriter, and all you glorious people who brighten up my day with every fanfiction alert :) Some days, all it takes is a single review or story alert to brighten up a day. There is nothing like the feeling, so I thank you and hope to please :)

Sorry for the extended wait; school has started for me, and this semester will test my strength. However, I haven't given up on CB, or this story, although I may as well have given up on the show :( Please let me know what you think! If you only knew what I had planned for these two ;)

Also, I'm pulling out BABW as we speak :)

Remember, this is AU; as such, not everything is as it seems... Thank you for reading, and enjoy :)

* * *

**Chapter 1: **Memory

_Those who restrain desire,_

_Do so because theirs is weak enough to be restrained._

_William Blake_

* * *

It seemed as if an eternity of time passed between the two.

She, bruised knees amongst the carpet below her; he, with his smirk seeming to lengthen, grow, _glow _against those insidious features as he took her in, finger running across the jagged point of his chin, body eased against the velvet of the golden seat upon which he sat.

Everything about him was alarming. The sharpest jaw paired with supremely full lips, an elongated but slender nose, and the most piercing of hazel eyes were the most definite features that demanded absorption. A midnight suit cloaked his body, a hint of crimson peeking out from underneath the coat jacket; a shade that disturbingly matched the surface at his feet.

She was in a large hall; fabric of carpet stretched from the soles of his feet to the mahogany doors she had attempted escape. Bare cherry walls enchanted by gold-framed pieces surrounded her, and the chair upon which he sat was the only piece of ornate furniture in the room.

She took a pained breath, the muscles of her body weak and pleading for rest. As the iron taste of blood crept into her mouth, she spit quickly, bile rising in her throat as her arm wiped away the red liquid at the corner of her lips. She glanced at the numb portion of ankle, the mangled sight of flesh and crimson greeting her eyes. She turned her head as the men who had dragged her in marched out of the great hall, hauling the weight of the mahogany doors behind them as the room was engulfed in complete silence.

Leaving her at her knees, and him watching her.

She had seen photographs of him, of course. Dark, endless nights at a bar, finger tracing the rim of water left behind her glass, her eyes would lift slightly at those forbidden pictures passed between the callused fingers of hidden men. Their orbs would fill with the sting of jealousy, mutters of their desire to rid the man of his power so quietly whispered amongst the throng of those who wished him dead. It had simply been fleeting glances of the glossed images; only the last week had she finally asked to see a picture of their most heated discussion.

And he was every bit of the picture, and then some.

The black eyes that had stared out into her soul through the picture now glowed an eerie hazel; the straight line of his mouth was now formed into a radiant smirk.

The tears that had been weeping down her face immediately halted; she was transfixed, eyes locked with his own, but body, unknowingly, pulling away from his hovering figure. Fear gripped at her heart; she cast her eyes cast downward, in fear of seeing her future glow in the color of his narrow eyes.

It seemed as if an eternity of time passed between the two.

* * *

"You gave my men there quite a fight," she heard him declare; a throaty, amused declaration creeping along the surface of her spine. She shuddered, keeping her head down, watching the limp strands of her hair surround her face.

"It has been said that only the guilty go down with such vigor."

_Be humble,_ she had heard an aged, balding man with the most brilliant green eyes whisper amongst the collection of his most passionate aggressors. _If you are faced before him, make him believe he is your redeemer._

Her eyelids flitted, pleading for strength.

_It may be the only thing that saves your life. _

She heard him rise, saw the tips of his leather shoes move towards her. Her heart beat an amaranthine rhythm against her chest as he knelt himself down to her level.

Electricity shot through her spine as he tilted her chin upwards, bringing her face to his. She was shivering underneath his touch, mind working for divine intervention, some sort of fortuitous aid, as those narrow eyes studied her.

He smiled, and she was certain he stroked her chin, before she felt a searing pain tear into her flesh.

She gasped, eyes rolling backwards, whites revealed, as the agony at her hip instantly grew to euphoria, filling her veins, flooding the surface of her skin, the lull of it all demanding her eyes to shut close as her body fell supple against his hands.

But before she fell into complete unconsciousness, she felt the rasp of his voice against her ear.

"Welcome, Miss Waldorf."

* * *

He felt her body fall against his, and he conceded a full, effulgent minute of her weight against him, nose turned away from the porcelain skin of her neck.

When he felt the familiar stillness of limbs beneath his hands, he meticulously pulled out the syringe, tossing the worn needle to the side.

He nodded and watched a large, rotund woman in a blue and white pinstriped uniform come forward, along with her two charges, to take her away.

But before he was ready to release her from his arms, he breathed a proper greeting against the delicate organ of her ear.

* * *

_Dark irises and pink nipples. _

_The figure allured him, his own siren, leading him from the tumbler by his side to the glory of crimson sheets, her mouth stretched in a lazy smile, lips lengthening, growing, glowing, hair in dark, delicate waves, as he approached._

_He joined her, two bodies hidden underneath the sheets, where the most curious of eyes couldn't catch them. Eyes brilliant against the moonlight streaming through the fabric, she toyed with the skin at his neck._

"_You're horrible."_

_He smiled against her lips, even as he felt her lone tear press against the skin of his cheek. He pressed his lips against the skin at the underside of her breast before he pulled away, hovering over her body._

"_You're beautiful."_

* * *

"Sir?"

He breathed sharply, lifting his head from the cradle of his hands. When he saw Gideon standing before him, with a most puzzled expression, he pressed his fingers at the arch of his nose for several seconds, before he rose quickly.

"Get me Ray," he spoke slowly, recalling the name of the man who had dragged her in by the strands of dark, delicate waves. "Let's see if we can teach him how to treat our newest guests."


	3. Chapter 2: Heart

**Title: **Silk

**Author:** Syrianora

**Rating:** Mature

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing. All is used for entertainment, none for profit.

**Pairings:** Mostly Chuck and Blair. (D/S to come)

**Summary: **She awakens in a darkened room: bruised, bleeding, and pleading for mercy. He will grant it to her, but on his terms.

**Author's Note: **As always, I am indebted to your kind words and prolonged interest. Without them, this chapter could never have been released. I'm certain that many of you will have many questions by the end of this chapter; please ask away. Although I will be certain not to give away plot points, as per writer's code :)

Remember, memory is one of the most powerful things on this earth.

Dedicated to Blake (aka BlackChampagne), who fueled the final editing of this chapter.

* * *

_God gave us memory so that we might have roses in December._

_James Matthew Barrie_

* * *

_She was his enigma._

_Standing there, watching her tiny figure move hypnotically against the bodies surrounding her, curls wild, lids heavy, and hips swaying, he dutifully watched her for the third time._

_And he had fucked her, many many times, when the moon was high and hands were low and eyes would roll._

_He had taken her against a railing overlooking her peers, against the sharp piercings of a walled bookshelf, against the stabbing frost of a window; legs crossed, fingers deep, sweat at the small of her back gleaming like the crimson sheen to those devil incarnate lips. _

_He had fucked her, many many times, and she hadn't even known it._

It had taken him six pills before the pounding in his heart slowed to a steady pace.

Six tiny, beige-colored tablets swallowed in one frantic movement, and his hands had halted their incessant trembling.

This time, Chuck had envisioned every single encounter recalled in his dream, every fuck, every tease she had offered him, knowing full well that it was a dream within a dream; a staggering desire to bed the woman with the blood lips and dark, delicate waves.

With the railing, it was a glistening moisture that covered her inner thighs, as he leaned her over and allowed the bones of her vertebrae to appear.

With the bookshelf, she had worn a red dress (red, because it was _his _dream, and he adored red on porcelain), bare legs wrapped around his waist, eyes tight and mouth gaping open, clutching at the shelves surrounding her.

With the window, he had stabbed his fingers into her and watched her writhe.

He had awoken with a start, pushing off the limbs of the blonde whore beside him. She purred and climbed atop of him, but he merely shoved her aside and headed into the closet beside his bathroom. The room was empty, save for a hidden collection of buttons that immediately filled the walls with rows and rows of surveillance cameras.

And he sat and pressed a cigarette to his lips, eyes locked on the camera overlooking her bedroom.

* * *

Midnight silken sheets, the kind that coated the skin of star-crossed lovers, lay beneath her, her body covered in an identical robe. The room was simple, but touched with an air of class, each piece ornate and representative of old money, money that knew how to be spent.

She awoke in one of the most glorious rooms she had ever seen.

Her ankle, whose gruesome form had brought the bile to her throat, had been cleaned; the only sign of its former demise a thin, barely present white line against the bone protruding from skin. Her fingers ran through her washed hair, the pounding at the base of her skull vacant, the skin beneath her robe void of the bruises she was certain would be present.

She had been healed and laid to rest.

Slowly, she moved to the edge of the bed, fueled by a foreign energy that her body had fascinatingly undertaken. Her feet led her to the curtain-covered window, fingers brushing aside the mahogany fabric in search of any indication of where she was.

The curtains parted to reveal endless brick.

She gulped, heart pounding against her chest, as she moved to the various windows scattered throughout the room, each parting identical and making her heart beat more ferociously, more in fear of what was to come.

Tears swept down her cheeks in an endless river as she found the door to her bedroom unrelenting beneath her anxious hands.

She was locked in.

She turned quickly to the open doorway of the bathroom, falling to her knees and retching a shadowy mixture of bile and water.

She heaved three times before the tears at her eyes halted, before she pressed a damp cheek against the tiles of the floor, before her lids fell heavy, and her arms encased her figure in a tiny plea of desperation.

* * *

_Serena had long since disappeared from the dance floor, the wide smile and stretched fingers of yet another man brushing at the golden locks and pulling her away from the harsh lights._

_Blair breathed a word of momentary absence to the man behind her, whose fingers were beginning to pull at the colorful material of her dress, before she headed to the bathrooms in search of her blonde counterpart._

_She felt her phone vibrate against her hip, her fingers pulling out the device and catching sight of her mother's name against the screen. Allowing the phone to beat against her hand, she began to search various rooms, peeking in and finding writhing men and naked girls. _

_The time was late, far later than the two had anticipated to be out, and Eleanor's call would be proof of the interrogation that would be awaiting their arrival._

_Blair glanced into the final room in the vacant hallway and found it empty, her body turning to head back to the dance floor, when she bumped painfully into a dark figure._

_And she was stunned, stunned into a most wretched silence by a pair of the most glorious hazel eyes she had ever seen._

_He stared at her for what seemed eternity, gaze held between two figures for the longest time, before she heard Serena call for her._

_Quickly, far more quickly than she would have deemed possible, he grabbed at her palm, pressed a folded sheet of paper into the skin, and turned rapidly with his head low, walking past Serena and turning a sharp corner, disappearing from sight._

"_Let's play pool, B!" Serena shrieked, and Blair could only will the pounding in her chest to still, before she tucked the slip into her pocket and dragged Serena out of the club._

_Only when she had dealt with the massacre at home, only when she had bathed and lay comfortably in her sheets, did she fold open the slip of paper with shaking hands._

**_The Palace Hotel_**

**_153 West Broadway_**

**_Tomorrow, Midnight_**

**_Come alone._**

_And she dreamt of f__ull lips, a pointed jaw, and alabaster cheekbones beneath silken sheets._

* * *

Her eyelids snapped open, the beating of her heart only growing in intensity.

Charles Bass, in a portion of her younger years.

Charles Bass, _entering _a long-forgotten memory.

* * *

Thanks for reading :)

It's about to get very dark, my friends.


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